You’ve just arrived in a swampy, dim town. As you look around, your gaze is met with shacks and cabins. It smells of rotted wood and wet moss. You duck and step into a tattered tent, illuminated by a series of candles suspended in the air. At the back of the tent, an old hag raises her head, “What brings you to this dingy town? she begins, then pauses to study your face—”Ah, it’s you. I’ve been expecting you. Sit,” she gestures at a cushion, “Tell me your story.”
((How do you respond?))
Edrystel hesitated but complied, lowering herself to the hag. She took in the smell of sodden fabric and fragrant breeze of the neighbors cooking fish. With a measured breath, she began to speak, narrating her journey that started in the forest, as all her stories do. She explained her family's traditions as scribes and librarians, and delving into her passion for botany. "I have no need for magic, as this world contains so much more in the flora." The conversation unfolded, blending the aura of the swampy town with Edrystel's journey as a botanist and writer.
Recommended Comments